"The White Cross"
When I think of you I think of dying
When I'm in your arms I feel like crying

On the white cross
Baby, you are the crow
and I'm the figure in black
being preyed on below

To make you happy I dress in lace
with those blood-stained hands
you touch my face

I abused myself for you
I misused myself for you

On the white cross you hang with that same bleeding smile
The dark rain falls on your pale skin
You watch me disappear
And your pain begins.